So me and Ronan are watching the Government jet bringing Daniel Kinahan back to Ireland on one of those geolocation tracking websites on the big TV screen in the livingroom.
I’m like, “Liechtenstein? Why is that name familiar?”
“It’s where Hennessy had half of your auld fedda’s muddy stashed,” Ronan goes. “Well, that’s according to the findings of the Mahon Thribudal.”
I’m there, “Which my old man disputes.”
Brian, Johnny and Leo are pulling faces like they’re constipated. ‘They’re looksmaxxing’
‘Oh my God! Your dad’s new girlfriend has entered the Wicklow Pollock Queen competition!’
‘My son has opened a museum celebrating criminality. I wish people would stop asking if I’m proud’
‘Fionnuala had a far more significant impact on Foxrock than Samuel Beckett’
He’s like, “Which Cheerlie disputes – bang on, Rosser.”
We sit there for another minute or so, watching the little red plane make its way across, I don’t know, I’m presuming that’s, like, Europe?
I’m there, “This is very Luther and Benji in Mission Impossible, isn’t it? Here, will I throw on the soundtrack on Spotify?”
And that’s when Sorcha’s old man tuts.
I’m like, “Something wrong? You’re not choking on one of my chocolate Hobnobs there, are you?”
He’s been itching to say something all day.
He goes, “A fine way to spend a Sunday afternoon.”
Sorcha’s old dear is there, “Edmund, leave it.”
Ronan looks at me and he goes, “Rosser, Ine godda make thracks. Ine meeting Buckets and Stacks for one or two in The Broken Arms.”
Dad, please, I wanted this to be a lovely family Sunday like you see normal families having on Instagram
— Sorcha
I’m like, “Ro, you don’t have to go. You’re more entitled to be here than these two knobs.”
Sorcha goes, “Ross!”
But Ro’s like, “No, doatunt get up, Rosser. I’ll see meself out,” and then off he focks.
I give Sorcha’s old man a serious filthy and I’m like, “Do you ever take a day off from being a dick?”
It’s a zinger and he knows it.
He goes, “A fine job you did raising that boy.”
I’m like, “Meaning?”
Sorcha goes, “Dad, please, I wanted this to be a lovely family Sunday like you see normal families having on Instagram.”
The dude’s like, “I’m just making the point that it’s little wonder the boy glorifies in criminality given who he has for a parental role model.”
I’m there, “You’re genuinely questioning my parenting skills?”
Sorcha is still practising her walk and wave for the Parade of Lobster Queens Past at the Dalkey Lobster Festival next weekend. Her sister – can’t remember name – has got a full neck tattoo and is living above a vape shop in Lusk with a crypto trader boyfriend and two kids who Sorcha’s old pair never see. I could mention it, but I don’t.
The dude goes, “Yes, I’m questioning your parenting skills. I mean, what the hell are these three doing? They haven’t spoken a word all day.”
Yeah, no, he’s talking about Brian, Johnny and Leo, who – seeing as he’s asking – are sitting side by side on the sofa, pulling faces like they’re constipated.
I’m like, “They’re looksmaxxing. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”
He goes, “They’re what?”
I’m there, “See what I mean?”
Sorcha goes, “They’re exercising their faces to try shorpen their jawlines.”
Now it’s Sorcha’s old dear’s turn to throw in her two yoyo’s worth.
She’s like, “Why on Earth would they want to do that?”
I’m having to put out fires everywhere all of a sudden.
I’m there, “Because, unfortunately for them, they got their looks from your side of the family?”
She’s like, “How dare you?” even though she has basically no chin.
Sorcha goes, “Ross has drummed it into them that physical attractiveness is the most important thing in the world–”
“After rugby,” I remind her.
“–so they’re trying to change the structure of their faces,” she goes. “All the young men are doing it. It’s an online thing. And it’s absolutely ridiculous.”
Your daughter broke our daughter’s hort
I’m there, “And, what, you chose me for my brains, did you?”
It’s an absolute humdinger and she has no comeback to it. Her old man does, though. He’s a total last-word freak.
He goes, “We’re still wondering why she chose you at all. She could have had any man she wanted.”
Steady on, I think. She was a definite looker in her day, but let’s not go losing the run of ourselves.
“Looksmaxxing,” his wife goes. “I’ve never heard of anything so stupid. Stop it, boys! Stop it this instant!”
I’m there, “Don’t listen to her, goys – unless you want a chin like hers. In other words, no chin.”
Oh, that ends doing it. He’s suddenly on his feet, jabbing his finger in my general postcode, going, “You are the worst father in the world!”
I’m there, “This coming from a man whose daughter is living above a vape shop in Lusk with a neck tattoo, a crypto trader boyfriend and two saucepans you never see.”
He’s like, “I beg your pordon?”
Shit, I don’t think he knew about Lusk.
I’m there, “I’m calling it, Dude. Hey, I know I’m not father-of-the-year material, but I’m a hell of a lot better at it than you.”
He goes, “The proof of the pudding is right there in front of you. And sadly they got most of their genes from you as well.”
I’m not a big believer in genes per se – as in, I’m sure they’re probably a thing. But it’s like when people tell you that a stor in the sky is an explosion that happened in space millions of years ago and the light is only getting to us now – it sounds like horseshit.
Sorcha’s old dear is still trying to get the boys to stop looksmaxxing. She’s going, “Stop it! Stop it and talk to us like normal children!”
That’s when the doorbell rings.
I’m there, “I’ll get that,” delighted to escape the room.
I open the front door and there’s, like, two total randomers standing there – a dude and presumably his wife.
She goes, “Your daughter broke our daughter’s hort.”
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
She’s like, “She’s been stringing Anna along for months now, letting her think she was her girlfriend, then she finds out that she’s been seeing somebody else behind her back.”
“More than one,” her husband goes. “Anna said there were several others.”
I’m no genius but I know I’m definitely getting blamed for that.
Quick as flash, I go, “I’m, em, actually the au pair. If you want to come in, Honor’s old dear is in the livingroom. It’s the second door on the left down there.”
As they step into the gaff, I step out of it. I’m going to head for The Broken Orms for a pint with my son. It’s been that kind of a day.
